Must Love Cats
by USxArthurxKirklandxUK
Summary: Tired of his friend's supposedly dead love life, Kiku gives Arthur an online questionnaire, with orders to fill it out. Arthur does so to please his friend, and ends up in over his head when he's sent a robotic "lover", Alfred. Rated for citrus KM-De-ant
1. Chapter 1

Must Love Cats

**A/N: Based off of a kink meme prompt for a fic based off of the manga "Love Neko", with USUK (in that specified order)… I took a bit of liberty and took elements from Love Neko and Absolute Boyfriend, and added a few things of my own; the only real part that stays true to the original manga is the concept... Hope the OP enjoys it anyways!**

**This is also my first true "M" story... So I apologize in advance for the fail! OTL**

**Summary: Tired of his friend's supposedly dead love life, Kiku gives Arthur an online questionnaire, with strict orders to fill it out. Arthur does so, if only to please his friend, and ends up in over his head when he's send a robotic "lover" named Alfred… with cat ears? Rated for future citrus!**

~*~*~*~USUK~*~*~*~

**Chapter One**

Arthur sat back on his couch, leaning against the arm. His laptop was open on his lap, the quietly humming machinery feeling warm against his pajama-clad lap. Why Kiku had forced him to promise to fill this stupid thing out was beyond him, but he typed in the website address nonetheless.

The browser loaded quickly, and Arthur was left staring at a rather obnoxiously _pink_ background, decorated with copious amounts of what seemed to be conversation hearts (the American candies he'd received from female classmates that tasted like chalk and had corny sayings such as "call me", "be mine", and "Yours 4-Ever" on them) scattered randomly across the background.

Sighing heavily, he ignored this abortion that dared to call itself a webpage design, and clicked on a button in the upper right corner, proclaiming in flowery script, "Begin here!" A form popped up, with check-boxes next to multiple-choice answers. The beginning questions were rather basic, and Arthur could answer them quickly and simply:

_What are you looking for in a relationship?_

After reading over the options, he clicked on the one closest to his own beliefs: _Someone that completes me._

_Do you believe in love at first sight?_

This one was a little trickier – not because the question was difficult, but because he was embarrassed to admit what he really thought. Blushing softly, he checked the '_yes_' box, cursing his inner romantic, and moved on.

_What is the most attractive part of the human body to you?_

Arthur felt his face flush more heavily with some of the options, but settled for something he usually noticed first about each person he met: "eyes".

_What color hair do you find most attractive?_

In truth, he didn't truly care about this. So long as a person was pleasant to have a conversation with, he didn't care much about their looks. He checked "blonde" and moved on.

_What color eyes do you find most enticing?_

This question was similar to the question about hair color. He checked "blue" and moved on again.

_Do you prefer your partner to be taller, shorter, or the same height as you?_

Arthur checked "Anything is fine" at the end of the choice list, and continued on with different questions until he reached the final few.

_What nationality or race do you find most attractive?_

Arthur wasn't big for the strange race-fetishes some people had. He clicked the first on the list ("American", he later found it to be) and moved on.

_What is your favorite animal?_

Arthur looked over at the silver tabby he had been given as a present on his last birthday. The beautiful cat stretched, as if sensing his gaze, and she looked over her shoulder at him, yawning, showing him her pearly-white fangs. He smiled. While he didn't particularly like animals all that much, he adored Victoria. She was darling, and he knew that he spoiled her rotten.

He checked "cats", then "submit". Yes, any prospective lover must love cats – there was no way he was getting rid of Victoria.

Another, this time smaller, form came up, with only three questions:

_What age group are you looking for?_

_Do you want them to be experienced, intermediate, or new in terms of relationships?_

And, finally, _Have you read our Terms and Conditions, and agreed to them?_

Arthur clicked on the group he himself fell into—"18-24". It seemed stupid to pick anyone older. To his surprise, though, there had been a group for those "15-18". What kind of perverts came to this site?

He clicked on "intermediate", mainly for the reason that he himself was not very well-rehearsed in relationships. He knew how they should work, how they were supposed to run their course. But all the contact he had with the fairer sex as of yet had been platonic. He'd never really believed in the philosophy that there could be sex without love; it seemed wrong to him. Making love was meant to be an expression of trust and love between two people. It wasn't a selfish act made for the pure pleasure aspect of it. Call him sentimental, call him a romantic, that was his belief.

Knowing that the "terms and conditions" would be the same legal garble that every other site had in order to keep from getting sued, he clicked "yes" without bothering to read it.

The last form was all on his personal specifics. His height, weight, hair and eye colors, his likes and dislikes… As well as his mailing address (a note stating that his personal information would not, in any way, shape or form, become public knowledge) for bill payments. The basic things that everyone put down in dating site profiles, he was rather sure. He filled it out accordingly, and clicked "continue".

A screen popped up, the word "Congratulations!" spelled out in the same annoyingly flowery print as the beginning button, on top of the rest of the message.

"_Click here for a free 6-month trial!_" it claimed, blinking irritatingly.

"At least it's free," Arthur grumbled darkly. "Damn it, Kiku. I don't need a damn dating site. I don't even need a relationship." Knowing full well that the Japanese male couldn't hear him in the apartment next door, he continued grumbling complains as he clicked on the final button that sealed his fate.

~*~*~*~USUK~*~*~*~

Two weeks later, Arthur was sitting at his kitchen table, nursing a cup of tea in his hands. The warm porcelain felt good against his cold hands. Sighing softly, he continued his relaxing ritual. He always had a nice hot cup of tea after a day at school. He was in his senior year at college, though he was easily one of the older men in his year. He had skipped two years between high school and college in order to travel abroad.

While he'd learned many interesting things while visiting the many countries he'd been to, he'd also rather exhausted his pocket book. As a result, he lived very frugally now. But he didn't regret his travels in the slightest – sometimes, he thought, he wished he could go back. And maybe he would, after he paid off his student loans. It sounded nice – a reward, almost.

A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. Sighing, he set aside his cup onto its proper place in its saucer. "Coming," he called, stepping quickly across his sitting room to the front door. He opened the door, and stared in surprise at the two men who instantly pushed their way into the apartment, wheeling behind them a rather large crate. "E-excuse me, who are—"

"Arthur Kirkland?" One of the men, with slicked-back blonde hair, a rather miffed expression, and blue eyes looked over at him, holding up a clipboard. Arthur nodded hesitantly. "Sign here, please."

Arthur took the page, and recognized it as a delivery confirmation form. He signed it, his hand feeling slightly shaky. Had he ordered something while drunk again? Oh, God damn it…

"Thank you." The man took the board back, and disappeared out the door with a brisk step.

The second man smiled slightly. "Sorry about Ludwig," he stated, winking slightly. "His first day on the job, has to replace his _hermano_." In contrast to his coworker, this man was bright and sunny, with dark brown hair and olive-green eyes; he had a pleasant Spanish accent that reminded Arthur of his summer spend in Spain a few years back. "My name's Antonio. Nice to meet you, Mr. Kirkland. Anyways, _adios_ for now… But if you have any troubles, we'll come to help you out, all right?" Without another word, Antonio disappeared after Ludwig, shouting at him to wait up.

Arthur stared at the open door for a few moments before slowly closed it, turning to face the monstrous box they had parked in front of his sofa. He tentatively walked over to it, running a hand along the smooth outside of it. Eventually, he found a small latch the stated "open here".

When he finally managed to wrench the side off, he was greeted with an avalanche of packing peanuts. Yelling in surprise, he struggled against something _heavy_ that prevented him from moving up. He was completely surrounded in little shells of Styrofoam, having issues breathing and moving.

Somehow, he managed to half-drag, half-dig himself out of the small drift of a mess that was now all over his recently-vacuumed floors… And he instantly froze at what he saw.

Laying face-down in the packing peanuts was a man. Arthur wouldn't be able to tell until later that night, but he had a beautifully sculpted face, set with two sky-blue eyes and a wide, meaningful smile; messy caramel-blonde hair framed his face, sometimes falling over his eyes. His body was just as perfect – even now, Arthur could see the muscle underneath the tanned skin, toned and flawless.

His eyes widened greatly. What the hell? He'd just been sent a _human being_? What kind of place had he… What was this, a slave ring? He then noticed the fact that a pair of cat ears stuck out of the man's head, large and invitingly soft-looking. A tail to match stuck out from underneath him. An even more perverted than normal slave ring, then. He knelt down quickly, his hands fluttering, trying to figure out something to do. "H-hey, are you… are you okay?"

Oh God, oh God, he wasn't moving… He leaned down, rolling the man – whom he now realized was _naked,_ thank you very much, and that just added to his "freak-out" level – onto his back. "Hey… come on, wake up…"

He reached over, cupping his cheek. He drew his hand back quickly. This man was _freezing!_ He managed to half-drag him out of the peanut-drift, lying him flat on his back. He felt for breath in front of his mouth, and, feeling none, he checked for a pulse.

He thought he may have felt something, but he couldn't be sure. He leaned over the cold man's chest, pressing his hands together, one of top of the other, and pressed down on his chest five times. "Come on, damn it, breath!" He would never forgive himself if this man died. He had apparently ordered him… or something… He didn't know, but this was insane!

He moved over to the blonde's face, gulping slightly as he bent lower, pressing his lips to the others in an open-mouthed CPR position—

Just to hear a strange whirring noise, and suddenly feel a tongue invade his mouth, strong arms wrapping around his back, pulling him closer as beautiful baby-blues looked on at him with something Arthur could only akin to awe. They slipped closed, their owner enjoying the kiss.

Arthur, for one, was too shocked to pull back at first. It took him until he felt a now-warming hand slipping up his sweater vest to gain control of himself and push him away, his hand falling in a stinging arc to land squarely on the cheek of the once-inanimate man. "What the _hell_, fucking _pervert!_" he screamed, ignoring the clueless look sent his way.

He managed to push his way away from the confused-looking man, who was still obliviously sitting in Arthur's living room in all his naked glory, and retreat so that his back was against the nearest wall, his chest heaving.

The mysterious blonde suddenly smiled widely, a good-natured personality shining through. "Lip scan recognized—Arthur Kirkland, my new master!" If possible, his grin grew wider. "I look forward to being of use to you…" Arthur felt his heart leap into his throat as the man stood, moving closer, faster than he would have thought possible. The man had him against the wall, an arm on either side of his head. "…Artie." He leaned forward, brushing his lips against the confused-as-bloody-hell Briton's, his hand going up to cup the back of his head. Arthur pushed against his shoulders, but was met with a new adversary—a hand had somehow found its way into his shirt, and was slowly crawling up his chest.

He screamed in protest, kneeing the man in the groin. He pulled back, looking more surprised than anything, and made a sound of confusion and almost disappointment when Arthur sprinted through the nearest door – to the bathroom. He slammed the door behind him, locking it firmly. His chest was rising and falling quickly as he attempted to catch his breath, and he found himself going into shock.

There was a crazy man in his house. A crazy perverted man wearing cat ears and a tail, who seemed intent on having his way with him. And he'd forgotten his damn mobile on the kitchen table, so he was unable to call for help.

Just lovely.


	2. Chapter 2

**Must Love Cats**

**A/N: I tried to get this chapter done as quickly as I could… I apologize for the delay… I had quite a bit of fun writing this chapter – England is just too fun to write… I hope you guys enjoy it!**

~*~*~*~USUK~*~*~*~

**Chapter Two**

Arthur took a deep breath, and began assessing his options. One: he could go out there, and pray that the man wouldn't be waiting for him. Two: he could stay inside here until someone came looking for him. That was it, really.

Judging from the fact that it was Friday, and he was known to spend the majority of his weekends holed up in his apartment reading Shakespeare or watching documentaries rather than going out with girls or getting drunk, the second option was out. He'd have to be gone at least through Tuesday for anyone to come and check up on him.

So that left going out. He looked around himself for anything that could pass as a weapon, and was sadly disappointed. He wasn't sure how much damage a roll of toilet paper would do against a pervert.

"Artie?" He heard the handle to the door jiggle as the taller blonde attempted to open it from the outside. "Are you okay? Artie…"

"G-go away!" Arthur managed to yell, shrinking away from the door, glaring at it as if that moron could see it through the rather solid wood.

There was a long pause, and Arthur almost believed that he had gone away, letting out a sigh of relief before he heard a sound that made his heart stop.

The doorknob on his end fell off, leaving a hole where the lock had once been. The man then opened the door as if everything were completely normal, the wreck of the former doorknob falling from his hand, pressed into the shape of his clenched palm.

Arthur stared at him with wide eyes, baffled, pressing against the wall more insistently. The man smiled softly, and moved forward, lifting his hand towards Arthur. "S-stay back!" What the hell WAS this man?

The blonde stared at him obliviously, pausing, his hand freezing. "Artie, it's okay." The hand finished its movement, cupping Arthur's cheek gently, softly, as if Arthur were made of glass. "I'm not going to hurt you, okay?" It seemed ironic, that the hand that had moments ago crushed a metal doorknob to scrap metal was now stroking his cheek as if it were made of the finest porcelain. "So don't be nervous…"

Arthur gasped slightly as slightly chapped, now-warm lips descended on his a second time, this time more gently than the first, as if trying to assure him. He stared ahead at the cat-eared man's closed eyelids, trying to find an escape route, but finding none.

Eventually, he settled for pushing him away, panting, flushed. "S-stop that…!"

Surprisingly, the blonde back off and let go of Arthur. "All right."

The Englishman looked at the American (he could tell because of that accent—ugh, he could barely stand that accent anymore, not after all the idiotic things his classmates in college had said with those same bloody verbal tics…); his expression was that of pure and utter surprise. "W…what? Th-that's it? You were practically forcing yourself on me back there, and you just…"

The American idiot smiled widely (why was that smile so infuriatingly adorable?), and leaned forward, pressing a light kiss to Arthur's forehead. "You never force yourself on your boyfriend, Artie."

"B-boy—" Arthur sputtered, his face turning a dark red, as he continued to make strangled noises in the back of his throat, attempting to articulate words.

The man smiled, if even possible, even more widely, and wrapped his arms around Arthur lightly, rubbing small, comforting circles on Arthur's lower back. "Mm-hmm… And don't worry, Artie. I'll be the best boyfriend ever, I promise…"

"D-don't call me that…!" Arthur snapped unintelligently, unable to understand just what the sodding hell was going on anymore. "Honestly… going on and calling yourself my b…b…boy…." He cut off for a moment before continuing, his breath hitching when the taller man's hand splayed out across his back. "…th-that… Who do you think you are?"

The cat-boy… no, man… Ugh, Arthur didn't know anymore – _it_ tilted its head to the side, as if it were a puzzled kitten. "I don't know… I don't have a name."

"Don't have a… How the hell can you not have a name?" Arthur asked incredulously.

"I don't," the other man insisted. He leaned down, effortlessly lifting Arthur into his arms. The Briton squawked uselessly in protest, thrashing violently as the nameless man carried him into the living room. "Artie, don't move around so much, I'll drop you," he complained. He collapsed onto Arthur's couch, tugging the thoroughly embarrassed Arthur onto his chest, cuddling up to him with a happy sigh.

"P-put some clothes on!" Arthur complained, pushing against the man's chest.

"Why?"

"Because you're _naked_, you absolute prat!" Arthur retorted, incredulous. Honestly, what was _wrong_ with this man?

"Hm." Seeming not to mind this fact, Arthur felt the man begin his ministrations on his back again, long, strong fingers gently stroking patterns onto his back through his sweater vest. "So, Artie…?"

"Don't call me that," Arthur repeated, bristling. "What do you want?"

"Are you going to name me or aren't you?" Arthur felt his breath catch in his throat as the taller blonde's ministrations continued, a slightly cold hand slipping up his shirt, continuing to trace shapes and patterns onto the pale skin beneath the green wool and white cotton.

"O-only if you stop _touching_ me, you wanker!" Arthur yelled, squirming until he was finally released and allowed to sit up. Strong arms were kept around his waist, however, preventing him from getting off his lap. "If I give you a bloody name, will you just _get dressed_ already and leave me alone?"

The blonde nodded eagerly, his eyes shining like an excited child. "Come on, Artie, pick a good one, okay?"

"Shut up, I'm thinking," Arthur muttered, rubbing his temples. He still didn't even know what the hell this man was doing in his apartment. Now he had to name him? Honestly, what the hell was going on?

Looking over to a small pile of poetry he had on the table, he could see the top poet's name from here: Alfred Lord Tennyson.

Alfred.

He looked over at the blonde, who was still looking up at him like an affectionate puppy. One of the cat ears perched on his head twitched in excitement. Arthur could see now that he didn't have a normal pair of human ears. He wondered how that had been accomplished… The name Alfred, though… It seemed… perfect. He wasn't sure why, but it did. "D…Do you like the name… er, Alfred…?"

"Alfred… Sounds kind of old, doesn't it? But… I kind of like it…"

"Alfred is a completely respectable name," Arthur sniffed. "Alfred Lord Tennyson was a great poet… And Alfred the Great was an excellent leader—"

"Alfred the Great?" Blue eyes shone down into green, excited. "He sounds awesome! I bet he was an amazing hero!"

"I… er, suppose you could say that…"

"Awesome! Then I'm definitely Alfred!" Arthur couldn't help but stare down at the idiot, now called Alfred, and think that this man was the exact opposite of both the intelligent poet and the famous king.

"Er, yes… Now would you mind letting me go…?"

Alfred sighed, his lower lip sticking out slightly. "But Artie… I don't want to…"

"And why the bloody hell not?" Arthur snapped, again pressing against the cat-eared idiot.

"Because… I just met my master, I dun' wanna let him go so soon!" Alfred complained, clutching to him tighter.

"I'm not your master, you twit!" Arthur yelled, smacking him upside the head. "Stop saying stupid things! I'm—"

"Well, then, if you're not my master, you're my reason for being, at least," Alfred stated easily, ignoring the blow to the head and simply pulling down a protesting, wriggling Arthur to rest down on his chest.

After nearly a full minute of struggling, Arthur finally tired himself out, and just allowed himself to rest against Alfred's chest. "Git… don't say such a serious thing just after you've met me…!"

"Hm… You don't want to be my master?"

"You—"

"I wouldn't mind being your master, then, Artie…" Arthur shifted uncomfortably as two hands moved to cup his thighs, just below his buttocks. A warm, slightly rough tongue traced the outer shell of his ear, and he shuddered unconsciously, gasping. "Hm, seems you like that idea, huh…? So, how about it…? I'll be gentle, I promise…"

"G-get off, you git!" Arthur full-out punched Alfred in the nose. The American's head snapped back in surprise, along with what sounded like a confused sound of surprise. Arthur leapt back, his face blooming a bright red in anger. "D-Don't mess with me like that…!"

Alfred looked up, pouting. "So mean… I love you, Artie…! Why do you have to be so mean!"

"You do not! You don't even know me!"

"I do too!" Alfred countered. "Arthur Kirkland, twenty-three years old. Height: five feet, nine inches. Weight—"

"Just because you can recite off my bloody dating site profile—"

"Likes include books, old movies, ballroom dancing, intelligent conversation, history, and traveling," Alfred interrupted. "Dislikes include French cuisine, the country of France, the Twilight series—"

"Alfred…!" The taller blonde cut off, looking down at Arthur. Both of their faces were flushed, and both were breathing hard. "Alfred, why are you here?"

"I was made for you," Alfred responded quietly. "You ordered me, remember…? I'm your perfect person. Your perfect match." Arthur nearly jerked back as a large, tanned hand came to cup his cheek gently. "I'm yours, so don't you want me…?"

Arthur had no idea what did it. Perhaps it was the kicked puppy expression (which was ironic, given the cat ears), perhaps it was the fact that he just looked so utterly lost… but he sighed. "I… don't know about matches. But… you can stay here. Just until… until I figure out what to do with you."

"Well, you _could_ use me for what I'm intended for…" Alfred muttered. His hands fell to Arthur's firm backside, his large hands squeezing it slightly. "I'm not bad in bed, after all…"

Arthur started with a yell. He fell ungracefully off of Alfred's lap, smacking his head on the coffee table as he went down, a bark of pain escaping his lips. "Artie!" Alfred was instantly at his side, looking down at him with wide, worried blue eyes. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Arthur snapped, pushing his hand away. "And you… You should be ashamed of yourself, saying such things…! I… I'm not so desperate for a relationship that I would… That's…" A blush was on his face, and Arthur knew it. And hated himself for it. "M-making love isn't something you do with someone you've only just met!"

"Then who do you do it with?" Alfred responded, his eyebrows furrowing.

"With someone you love!" Arthur responded hotly.

"Then fall in love with me," Alfred responded, sky-blue eyes dark and serious. "Fall in love with me, Arthur."


	3. Chapter 3

**Must Love Cats**

**A/N: I'm so sorry this took forever to get out. My Government class has been a real pain in the arse lately (thank you, teacher, for giving us one weekend to write a paper that ended up being 22 pages)… And I should be typing up a paper on Macbeth while posting this chapter to , but I felt bad. *sweatdrop* Enjoy...?**

**I apologize in advance for how short a chapter this is... OTL**

~*~*~*~USUK~*~*~*~

**Chapter Three**

"It isn't that simple, you prat…!" Arthur yelled, smacking the idiot American's shoulder as hard as he could muster. He didn't even manage to make him budge. Growling irately, Arthur pulled himself back up onto his feet, ignoring the still-naked moron's attempts to help him up.

"Why shouldn't it be?" Alfred retorted. "I'm your ideal partner, so—"

"I don't _have_ an ideal partner!" Arthur snapped, glaring at him. "And for the love of God, you're _male!_"

Alfred looked stricken, his blue eyes widening in hurt. Arthur sighed, running his hand through his choppy hair. "I… didn't mean to offend you, Alfred. This… This is rather strange for me, you must realize… to open a box, and a man is sitting inside—"

"They built me for you," Alfred muttered. "You… seriously don't want me?"

"Built... What on Earth are you talking about?"

Alfred tilted his head. "You mean you didn't know?"

"Didn't know what?"

"That you ordered me, of course."

"I've established the fact that I, apparently, bought you from some perverted website, but that hardly—"

"You sent in the application," Alfred explained, "and they programmed me to your specifications."

Arthur merely stared at the blonde idiot in front of him. "Programmed…?"

"Yeah," Alfred responded. He stood from the couch, turning his back to Arthur, pointing at something on his lower back that Arthur hadn't noticed before. A small barcode was tattooed onto the base of his spine, neatly covering a one by two inch rectangle of tanned skin. "I'm a Series Seven Nightly Lover model, built to your specifications, Arthur."

"Series Seven Nightly…" Arthur cut off, shaking his head quickly. "What the hell… model… So you're a…"

"A robot, yeah," Alfred responded, nodding energetically. "You're finally getting it, Artie! Honestly, didn't you read the Terms and Conditions when you ordered me?"

"I… I…" Arthur stammered for a few moments before shaking his head slightly in a negative answer.

"That's all right, Artie… It's mostly boring stuff, anyways… So, anyways, how about we go take a bath together and I can fill you in on the re—"

"ABSOLUTELY NOT!" Arthur screamed, looking around desperately for something to throw at the other man. "I will do nothing of the sort! And get some bloody clothes on, already!"

Alfred pouted momentarily before sighing, shrugging. "All right, Artie… If that's what you want…" The man—robot, Arthur mentally corrected himself—walked over to the box he had come in, digging around for a few moments before pulling out a small, shrink-wrapped package. He pulled it open, pulling out a set of clothing. It didn't take him long to get into the boxers (which had an obnoxious American flag print, how revolting) and the shirt (which, for some reason, had the words "Who's your hero?" on it). The jeans, however, were another story. He could not, for the life of him, figure out the zipper or the button.

Exasperated, Arthur went over to help the git finish getting dressed.

Where the hell was the damn receipt for this thing?

~*~*~*~USUK~*~*~*~

Arthur was currently curled up on his couch, a pen in one hand, his battered and dog-eared copy of _Macbeth_ propped against his knee. Every once and a while, his pen-hand would flash down, writing down notes or the occasional theme idea. Shakespeare was absolutely fascinating.

He looked up at Alfred, who hadn't moved for nearly an hour. He was on the floor, his legs curled into his abdomen, leaning forward so that his chest resting on top of his hands, which were placed palm-down on the floor. His chin was resting on the white carpet of Arthur's living room. He hadn't even bothered to ask the idiot what he was doing.

Victoria, Arthur's beloved little British Shorthair, was in a similar position, her nose a foot from Alfred's, her little paws curled up under her chest, in a half-crouching position.

Alfred's tail twitched. Victoria's mirrored the motion. Alfred's ear swiveled, and then Victoria's copied. It was like a game to the two of them.

Finding this display of behavior more than a little odd, Arthur observed the two quietly for a few moments, before something finally happened:

Victoria pounced.

Alfred jumped with a yelp as the cat's arms wrapped around his neck, her front paws flexing uselessly at the skin. Arthur had made sure she was de-clawed, at least in the front, before he took her home. Her back claws, however, were another story. Victoria twisted her body so that her back paws were on Alfred's chest and throat, and began kicking vigorously, an irritated growl escaping her throat.

"What the—Victoria! Victoria, stop that!"

Alfred grasped at the now-howling feline, attempting to untangle her claws from his shirt with a yelp of pain. "Ow! Damn it, not fair, you little—"

Arthur gasped as Alfred threw his little girl across the room, where she landed, puffing up in protest and anger, on an armchair. She hissed loudly at the half-man, swatting at the air in an offended manner. Arthur had never seen her like this. Usually, his Victoria was such a mild-mannered, sweet little thing! What could have possibly gotten into her?

The Briton rushed over to the still snarling and bristling feline, soothing noises escaping his throat as he gently scooped her up into his arms. He gently scraped his fingers down her back, smoothing the ruffled silver-gray fur. "Shh, calm down, love," he cooed. "I won't let that prat hurt you again," he promised.

Victoria, for her part, made herself comfortable in her master's embrace, resting her paws on England's shoulder, and her small, rounded face on top of them. A quiet purr began in the back of her throat as she slowly calmed down.

"W-what are you talking about?" Alfred asked incredulously. Surprisingly, his tail was approximately four times its normal size, the hair sticking on end. Even his ears seemed to have filled out slightly. "She attacked me!"

"And then you threw her," Arthur stated dryly, glaring at the American, again stroking his cat soothingly. "She's not even an eight your size, you brute." The Briton continued stroking the cat in his arms, leaning his cheek against her shoulder and murmuring to her gently, his book now abandoned on the coffee table. He turned his back to Alfred, still murmuring to his cat in hushed tones, obviously rather miffed.

Victoria peered over Arthur's shoulder, back at the rather hurt-looking American. He could practically _feel _smugness radiating off of her small form. As if mocking him, she rubbed her head against Arthur's neck, a quiet trill of pleasure escaping her little throat.

Alfred pouted, glaring at the bright green eyes that stared back at him, not even attempting to hide her mirth at the situation. She was all over his Arthur, and from how he was acting, he didn't mind in the slightest. That little… How dare she act as if she were Arthur's mate! That spot was for Alfred!

Blue eyes narrowed, meeting the acidic green gaze that looked back at him evenly. Arthur continued whispering softly to her, stroking her back, pausing to scratch at the base of her tail. She pressed her legs against the Briton's chest, her back arching in pleasure, and she snuggled into her master's neck a little more affectionately, her eyes never leaving Alfred's.

~*~*~*~USUK~*~*~*~

After a very lengthy argument over the reasons why Alfred could not sleep in his bed, Arthur finally retreated to his bedroom, locking the door behind him. While he knew it wouldn't stop the other man—robot, he again corrected—he hoped that it would at least instill a bit of a message on the other man. Locked doors obviously meant that he wanted to be left alone (speaking of doors, he would have to pay his landlord to replace the door knob, just lovely…).

Alfred pouted at the closed door, like a pouting puppy. His ears, which matched the golden-yellow color of his hair, were drooping pitifully. Likewise, his long tail was on the ground beside him, limp. Didn't Arthur like him? He'd tried so hard, just wanted to make the Briton happy… After all, he loved him—he'd been _made_ for Arthur.

Arthur was his.

The other cat of the house – Victoria, he remembered Arthur calling her – went over to the door, a quiet meow escaping her throat. She lifted a paw to gently pad at the door, her clawless forelegs making a gentle rustling noise against the cheap hollow door. Another meow, this a little more demanding and pitiful than the first, came from her.

The door opened, briefly, and Alfred barely caught a glimpse of the Englishman as he allowed the small mammal into his bedroom, a quiet "come in, love," passing his perfect, cherubic lips easily. A small smile was fixed on his expression, and though Alfred only saw it for the briefest of moments, it was fixed into his retina.

Why the hell had Arthur, _his_ Arthur, made such a beautiful smile, but directed it towards that little fluff ball? What did that thing have that he didn't?

His eyes narrowed as Arthur closed the door, re-locking it, Victoria now within the room Alfred was barred from, likely snuggling smugly with the Briton.

It was official: that cat was the enemy. Arthur was _his_, damn it, and he didn't like sharing.


End file.
